and martial glory crowned the arms of their military companions, (the British,) who cared little for “all the trumpery” of “friars white, black, or grey;” and if the contagion of their contempt did not reach their Catholic friends, they lessened, at least, the respect with which the inmates of the convent had been so long regarded. But in anticipating a period in which the Spaniard shall be released from monkish influence, it must not be forgotten how interwoven is that influence with his most delightful recollections and associations. His festivities, his romerias, {5a} his rural pastimes, are all connected with, and dependent on the annual return of some saint’s-day, in honour of which he gives himself up to the most unrestrained enjoyment. A mass is with him the introductory scene to every species of gaiety, and a procession of monks and friars forms a part of every picture on which his memory most delights to dwell.—And a similar, though, perhaps, a stronger impression is created on his mind by the enthusiastic “love of song,” {5b} so universal in Spain. He lives and breathes in a land of poetry and fiction: he listens with ever-glowing rapture to the Romanceros, {5c} who celebrate the feats of his heroes, and surround his monks and hermits with all the glories of saints and angels: he hears of their mighty works, their sufferings, their martyrdom; and the tale, decorated with the charms of verse, is dearer to him than the best of holy writ. The peculiar favourites of the spotless Virgin, their words fall on his ear like the voice of an oracle, their deeds have the solemn sanction of marvellous miracles. To them he owes that his country is the special charge of the queen of angels, the mother of God; and in every convent he sees the records of the wondrous interpositions of heaven, which has so often availed itself of the agency of the _sainted_ inmates, while every altar is adorned with the grateful offerings of devout worshipers, miraculously restored to health or preserved from danger. He feels himself the most privileged among the faithful. On him “our Lady of Protection” (del Amparo) smiles; to him the Virgin of Carmen {6a} bows her gracious head. In his eye ten thousand rays of glory encircle the brow of his patron-saint, the fancied tones of whose voice support, assure and encourage him: he believes that his scapulary {6b} (blessed by a Carmelite friar) secures him from every evil: his house is adorned with the pope’s bull of indulgences—a vessel of holy water is suspended over his bed, and what more can he want, what danger can approach him? His mind is one mass of undistinguishing, confiding, comforting faith. _That_ faith is his religion, his Christianity! How difficult will it be to separate the evil from the good, if, indeed, they can be separated! What a fortress must be overthrown before truth and reason can advance a single step! What delightful visions must be forgotten, what animating